


never move, never stop

by stolemyslumber



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolemyslumber/pseuds/stolemyslumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad and Ray kill people. But only the bad ones. A Dexter-inspired serial killers AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never move, never stop

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [lakeeffectgirl](http://lakeeffectgirl.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading!
> 
> Title from "Touch Me Bad" by Steel Train.

*

 

Ray hums under his breath as he lays out the supplies. It’s been awhile; he puts the screwdriver in the wrong spot at first, has to switch it out for the hatchet and then adjust everything so there’s enough room. By the time the lock clicks open on the front door, he’s got everything spaced out perfectly.

There are soft footsteps down the hallway, and then the sound of something hitting the armchair in the corner.

Brad’s arms come up and around him like they never left. Ray settles back against him, tipping his head back against Brad’s shoulder.

“Everything go okay?” Ray asks.

“To a point,” Brad says, and Ray freezes, racking his brain for what could have gone wrong. He’d done everything according to the plan. He’d left the keys and map in a gym locker, waited a week to put the ad in the paper with the code they’d agreed on, and left the car parked somewhere it wouldn’t be ticketed or towed. It should have all been ready and waiting for Brad. If anything had gone wrong, he wouldn’t have shown up at Ray’s motel.

“Other than the part where you made me drive forty-five minutes in a red Volkswagen Beetle,” Brad says evenly, “everything went fine.”

Ray has to stifle a laugh. “If I’d left you something you’d like, people would have noticed it. It’s not like I’m asking you to keep it.”

“I already ditched it. But that’s forty-five minutes worth of lost dignity, Ray. And _that_ is something I can’t get rid of.”

Ray rocks his hips back against Brad’s. “I could make it up to you.”

Brad presses a kiss to Ray’s cheek and leans over his shoulder a little, surveying the table in front of them. His hold tightens a fraction when he sees the new addition to the lineup. He opens his mouth, tongue snicking against the back of his teeth.

“Have you been playing without me?” he asks, voice teasing.

Ray slides his fingers under the cuff of Brad’s shirt. He scrapes his fingernails over the thin skin on the underside of his wrist.

“Just shopping,” he says. He turns in the circle of Brad’s arms and loops his own around Brad’s neck. “Do you need a day?”

Brad curls his hands around Ray’s hips, looking over the selection on the table speculatively. “Have you got anyone in mind?”

Ray grins up at him. “I’ve had a year, Brad. Of course I've got someone.”

 

*

 

It’s cool out for mid-August. Ray takes his jacket off when they get to the warehouse and holds the night’s entertainment -- still struggling futilely against the zip ties around his wrists, screaming muffled words under the hood -- while Brad pulls his sweater off over his head. Ray can’t help but make an appreciative noise at the sight of him in just a wife-beater.

Brad tosses his gloves and jacket into the burn barrel Ray had brought in three weeks ago and comes over, crowding in close. He tips Ray’s head back and bites down hard on Ray’s lower lip. Ray grinds up against Brad’s thigh. He twists at the zip ties until the man makes a pained noise.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brad says, pulling away from Ray’s mouth and yanking the hood off.

“Hi, Carl,” Ray says, reaching up to squeeze Carl Clancy’s meaty cheeks with one hand. “You thought you got away with it, didn’t you?”

Carl blubbers and tries to beg through the gag and pisses himself when they get him strapped down and bring out the new knife and the jump starter and battery clamps Brad had only gotten to use once before he’d gone down for assault.

It might not be smart to start up again so soon after Brad got released. But Ray’s had his eye on Clancy for a while, and tomorrow morning Clancy’s scheduled to leave for a month-long vacation in Thailand. That, combined with the new free-standing freezer against the far wall, will give them a pretty big window. By the time pieces of Clancy start washing up on the beach, Ray and Brad will be long gone.

They wouldn’t be doing this tonight if Ray hadn’t had it planned out; Brad believes in plans and rules, not luck. Ray politely doesn’t mention that luck’s both the reason Brad went away for a year and the only reason they’re still in business. They’d been in the subduing stage when it happened, with Ray waiting to pull the car around and Brad taking out their target with chloroform.

A rookie cop, off his route and hopelessly lost, had happened to roll past the alley right at that moment and had called it in. Brad had enough time to ditch the zip ties but not enough time to get away. If they’d been popped putting a body into the car five minutes later, they would have both been fucked for life.

They’ll have to be more careful from now on. But Ray’s got his suspicions that Clancy’s trip might have been one-way, and he isn’t sure either he or Brad could have waited more than a few more days, anyway.

They spend more time on this one than usual. On a normal night, once they get a confession, they usually both get bored. Tonight it goes on for hours, but Clancy is one sick fuck who more than deserves it.

They finish before it starts getting light out. Forty-eight neat pieces get packaged up and packed into the freezer. Everything disposable gets burned in the barrel and dumped into half a dozen trash bags, to be spread around half a dozen dumpsters. Ray runs a finger over the blade of the new knife. They should really get everything cleaned up and put away in the truck.

Brad ties off the last trash bag and sets it with the others. Ray watches him cross the room and doesn’t move until Brad grabs his arms and spins him around, bending him over the table. Ray’s hand comes down between the hatchet and one of the scalpels. Brad makes quick work of Ray’s jeans and his own. He presses a dry finger against Ray’s entrance and then inside. It slides in easily; Ray had spent some quality prep time in the bathroom before he’d started in on the supplies.

“You are such a _slut_ for this,” Brad says, adding a second finger.

Ray spreads his legs wider, canting his hips up. “Fuck yeah I am,” he gasps, and then Brad’s cock is at his entrance, pressing inside in one long smooth thrust. It’s too fast, not enough lube, and Ray can’t help but moan at the burning ache of it. Brad presses him down harder, until Ray can feel the whorled handle of the Bowie knife against his cheek. Brad waits a beat for Ray to adjust and then he’s moving, short hard thrusts that bump Ray’s hips up against the table.

“Missed you,” Brad says, voice low and already wrecked. He moves back a half step, pulling out partway. “C’mon, can you --” he starts, and Ray’s already rocking back against him, feeling Brad’s cock slide back in deep. “Yeah, yeah, fuck yourself,” Brad murmurs, meeting Ray’s movements with his own thrusts. “You looked so good, baby, missed the way you look with a knife in your hand, yeah, you picked the perfect welcome home present for me.”

Ray’s already close, all the waiting and anticipation of the night catching up with him. Brad’s words bring him even closer, and he reaches a hand behind him, catching Brad’s hip and urging him to fuck Ray harder.

“You gonna come?” Brad leans in, pressing his chest against Ray’s back, nuzzling Ray’s neck. “Yeah? You want me to?” he asks, like it’s even a question.

“Do it, fuck, come on,” Ray grits out, clenching his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for his cock. He feels the hot swipe of Brad’s tongue and then Brad’s teeth connect with his skin. He bites down hard on the meat of Ray’s shoulder, and Ray comes as he feels the skin break, spilling onto the concrete floor.

Brad draws his mouth away and manages a few more uneven thrusts before Ray feels him stiffen and come.

They stay there until they both catch their breath, Brad draped over Ray’s back, tracing his fingers around the edges of the bite mark.

“We should get cleaned up,” Brad says softly. “Today’s trash day, we better get the bags out before the trucks come.”

“Baby, you say the sweetest things,” Ray says, and Brad laughs. “Hey, I found us some new apartments to look at. I was thinking Costa Mesa, this time.”

“Works for me,” Brad says. “I’ll take the bags, you get your toys cleaned up, and then we’ll grab burgers on the way?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

*

 

They pick the third place on the list -- a two-bedroom on the first floor of a twenty-story building, close to the back entrance and far from the elevators. There are enough apartments that they’ll just be two more faces in the crowd.

They move in the next Monday, in the early afternoon. They’re done by sunset, early enough to order a pizza and watch a movie while Ray re-cleans their kit and Brad starts looking into the other possible targets Ray’s found over the last year.

When it gets close to midnight, Brad takes him into the bedroom and fucks him missionary style on the bed. Just like the first time -- tied to the headboard, Brad’s hands around his throat when he comes.

“You’re such a fucking romantic,” Ray rasps after, when Brad’s kissed his wrists and climbed under the covers with him.

“You’re the one who waited,” Brad says.

“Like that was ever even a question.”

In the morning, they’ll start looking for a new warehouse. Brad will narrow down the list, and they’ll content themselves with research and tailing for a month or so, to avoid attention and satisfy Brad’s eternal hard-on for planning things down to the second. And in a month, they’ll have a new warehouse, probably a few new toys, and a new scumbag target to rid the earth of.

Tonight, there’s just the bruises he can feel forming on his wrists and neck, the feeling of Brad pressed in close behind him, and the promise of the knives laid out on the coffee table in the living room.

 

*


End file.
